A short time after crossing the wide Atlantic to America, my father got a letter from his brother in Ireland who was sick with Tuberculosis. Pop carried the letter around with him, regardless of what he was wearing, for years. One morning Mother removed the letter because she was taking his jacket to the dry cleaners. A telegram came later that day that John, his brother, was dead. Hearing the news, Dad reached for the letter that was always with him, but it was not there.